To Catch an Earl - Kate Bateman Page 0,33
her napkin and placed it on her bread plate. “He is delicious. Emmeline, if you do not snap him up immediately, I shall be exceedingly cross. What a fine specimen!”
Emmy gave her an exasperated frown. “He’s not a horse.”
“I should say he is. A stallion.” Camille chuckled bawdily. “I’d take a canter on him any day of the week.”
Luc looked scandalized. “Really!”
Camille took a sip of wine. “Pish. You youngsters these days are far too straitlaced. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the opposite sex. If I were twenty years younger, I’d have him myself.”
Emmy gave an appalled laugh. “You’re welcome to him.”
Chapter 13.
Emmy couldn’t concentrate on the theatre performance. The acting was good and the story was full of drama, but she was bored and restless. Without Harland’s electrifying presence, the whole evening felt like flat champagne that had lost its fizz. Life was no fun without someone to annoy. Or evade.
When the lights came on to signal the intermission, Camille leaned over and caught her fan, which Emmy had been tapping on her knee. “Why don’t you go home? Or better still, why don’t you use those tickets Lord Mowbray sent over?”
Luc leaned forward in his seat. “To the Tricorn?” He shot Emmy a questioning glance.
Barely an hour after Harland had left Waverton Street, a note had arrived for Luc containing two admittance cards for the Tricorn. The accompanying sheet had simply been signed “Mowbray.”
Whether Harland knew about the invitation or not was impossible to guess.
Camille nodded. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been dying to try your hand at the Tricorn’s tables ever since it opened, Luc Danvers.” She turned to Emmy. “And don’t you pretend you haven’t been burning with curiosity to see what kind of place Harland inhabits.” She patted their hands with her own and gave them each a gentle smile. “I know you both too well, mes enfants.”
Emmy bit her lip. Camille was right; she’d dreamed of getting a peek inside the hallowed portals of the Tricorn for months. She wanted to see Harland’s lair. “What if someone recognizes me?”
Camille reached into her reticule and pulled out a black silk half mask with a thin ribbon tie. She blinked in mock innocence. “Oh, look. I must have left this in here after the Colcroft’s masquerade.”
Emmy took it with a dry snort. “How convenient. Some might even say unbelievably convenient. What are you up to, Camille?”
Camille shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with doing a little reconnaissance on the opposition, darling. Just to see what we’re up against. He’s already called on us, remember. We’re simply returning the favor.”
Emmy fidgeted in her seat, plagued by indecision. The night was suddenly alive with possibility, but common sense dictated she keep her distance. This could be a trap, although how, exactly, she couldn’t imagine. There was nothing she planned to steal from the Tricorn. And it wasn’t as if she was going to get caught cheating at cards; she didn’t know how.
Camille waved her fan. “Don’t worry about me. I can share a carriage home with Lady Sutherland.”
Emmy glanced over at Luc. “Why not?”
She’d take care not to be identified by anyone. And the chance to gain some insight into Harland’s private world was too tantalizing to resist. Knowledge was power and all that. She wanted to see him on his home turf.
Luc gave a resigned sigh. “Oh, all right, then. Come on.”
* * *
Alex suppressed a yawn as he gazed out over the main room of the Tricorn from his favored position up in the minstrel’s gallery. It was warm up here near the ceiling, but the elevated position made him feel comfortable, master of all he surveyed. Well, one-third master, as least.
He’d squandered plenty of his own fortune in gaming hells like this one before he’d left for the continent. He’d been adrift in the ton, gambling and drinking, with no real aim in life save for having fun. The structure of the army had come as a welcome change; every mission had been clearly defined. Storm that citadel. Secure the mountain pass. Protect those townspeople. He’d thrived on the challenge.
Running the Tricorn gave him a similar sense of satisfaction, a feeling that he was doing something worthwhile with his life, instead of squandering his talents and time. It was a legacy, of sorts. Something he could pass down to the next generation.
Not that he was anywhere close to producing that next generation, of course. He’d have to find a woman he could stomach as a wife first. Some